“Have you ever helped deliver a baby?” she asked Molly.
“No.” Molly tipped her head to the side. “Grandmother Eagle will not allow me to attend births. A woman who is to become an eagle doctor, like I was supposed to, cannot assist in such matters until she has been married a long time and her children have grown. But birth is a sacred, happy time for our people. I have a book with some information and I’ll have to learn about it if I am to be a doctor someday.
“When my cousin came to see us last year, he told us about a woman doctor who had come to the reservation. She received a certificate from a university. If she was able to do so, perhaps I could as well.”
Soonie clasped her hands together. “Oh, Molly, how wonderful. Imagine how much you would learn.”
Molly’s smile faded into a worried frown. “But perhaps a Comanche girl would not be allowed to study with white people. I do not know.”
“Maybe we could write this woman a letter and see what she thinks.”
“Perhaps.” Molly stared at the ground, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.
A slight movement rippled through the brush.
In a flash, Molly was on her feet, her bow drawn and an arrow on the string. “Show yourself,” she called.
Hairs stood up on the back of Soonie’s neck. Her eyes sought Molly’s for some explanation.
The girl stared past her.
Should I get to my feet? Duck down? Run?
Molly’s eyes widened.
Rough hands grabbed Soonie’s hair and snapped her head back. A sharp object brushed her throat.
“I suggest you put the bow down, Missy,” a voice rasped in Soonie’s ear.
No, no. Not here. Not today. We are so far from help.
Molly lowered the bow. Two men came behind her, each grabbing an elbow. She struggled for only an instant before she grew still, her heaving chest the only movement.
Soonie’s neck stung as the object pressed harder against her skin. Warnings darted from Molly’s eyes, and she held back all but the tiniest breaths.
A fourth man stepped in between the girls and their captors. He removed his hat, revealing a bush of white hair. “Well, well, well, men. I guess there’s more to hunt in these hills then beavers and fox.”
I’ve seen this man before. Soonie’s mind groped through her memories to a time when her heart beat almost as fast. That day on the road, when we were traveling to the settlement.
The three men in her line of vision were unkempt and unwashed. Their clothing was dirty and ragged.
Soonie closed her eyes. God, please, please, were all the words she could think to pray. She scanned the area as far as her eyes could move without turning her head. Anything. Anywhere.
A jagged fingernail poked her cheek. The man in front of her bent close and opened a mouth full of rotted, broken teeth. “You girls live close by? Or did the birds drop you off as a little present for us hard-workin’ trappers?”
He nodded to her invisible captor, and she felt the blade leave her skin.
Molly’s eyes had closed, and her lips moved with no sound. Soonie knew she was praying too.
“Yup, you girls are purty nice, for injun girls.” The white-haired man grasped Soonie’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared into her face. “You almost look white. I figger you must be a half-breed. So I’d bet you know a bit of English, at least. We’ve been through that town east of here, and we know they don’t allow your kind ‘round these parts. So I’m gonna ask you one more time, and you’d better answer me.” He took the knife from the man who held her and shoved it close to her nose. “Where did you come from?”
Suddenly, Molly swung her elbows up to smash the faces of both her abductors. They staggered back. She lowered her head and barreled into one man’s gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The white-haired man turned. Soonie kicked at the knife, causing the blade to slice the side of his face. She wrenched her arms free, pulled out her own blade and whirled to face her surprised captor, a thin man with no beard.
He jumped back in time to avoid having his belly cut open. “Hal, she’s a wild cat!” he yelled.
If I can just get past him, to the right--.
A jolt of pain ran through Soonie’s arm as another man twisted it behind her. He shoved her, and she landed hard on the rocks. Her lungs pressed against her ribcage, begging for air to fill them again.
Molly screamed, and the men cursed.
I need to take a breath. I have to get up.
She rolled on her back, and a heavy body thudded to the ground beside her, an arm flinging over her stomach. The young man’s glassy eyes stared into hers. His hairless chin was slack, and an arrow stuck out of his chest.
A blanket of silence fell over the ridge.
Soonie pushed the man’s arm away and scooted back to avoid the blood spilling over his side. Her arm ached and a new pain darted up her ankle when she tried to put weight on it.
A different man stood by the undergrowth, watching the trappers as they fled. Soonie could still hear cursing and crashing, but it got further and further away.
The man wore buckskin clothing, and his brown arms gleamed with sweat and oil.
“Lone Warrior, how...” she tried to stand, but her ankle gave way beneath her and she sat down again. “Ouch!”
Molly flew to her side, a scarlet handprint from a slap glowing on her face. “Oh, Soonie, are you all right? I thought you might have been knocked out when you fell.”
Lone Warrior came to kneel beside her. He rubbed his neck and his lips twisted into a frown. “I sent Thomas and Gray Fox after those men. Better if they don’t make it out alive, but they have horses and we did not bring our animals. We were hunting in the gully when we saw their camp and decided to see what they were doing here.”
He touched Soonie’s ankle, and she trembled as he probed her foot with gentle fingers. “Do you think it might be broken?”
Molly pushed his hand out of the way. “I’ll be the judge of that. Clumsy man.” She tugged at Soonie’s moccasin strings.
Soonie bit her lip to hold back a gasp, but tears flowed down her cheeks.
“You are causing her pain,” Lone Warrior said sharply.
“I need to find out what’s wrong.” Molly pulled at the leather. “I’m going to have to cut the straps, but I’ll fix them later. The ankle is already so swollen.”
“Do what you need to do,” Soonie said, through gritted teeth.
Molly drew out her knife and snapped through the supple leather. She eased the shoe off the foot. “It doesn’t look broken. But if touch causes this much pain, you will not be able to walk home.”
A strong sapling stretched over Soonie’s spot on the ground, and she grasped the trunk and tried to pull herself to her feet. The pain enveloped her entire being and spots danced before her eyes. She sat back down. “I’m putting us all in danger,” she murmured. “Those men could return at any moment.”
Lone Wolf stood and stared into the brush. “I don’t believe they will come back today. Only three remained in the group, two were bleeding.”
Soonie’s eyes rested on the dead man, whom she had somehow forgotten in the last few moments. “What about him? Do we know who he was?”
“A man who made a bad choice,” said Molly.
Lone Warrior nudged the body with his foot. “The others will want revenge for their friend,” he said softly. “But not tonight.”
11 Firelight
Thomas and Gray Fox returned within an hour.
“The men escaped.” Gray Fox swiped a hand across his brow. “God only knows how those horses made it down the ridge.”
Lone Warrior turned away and kicked a large, rotten tree stump down the hill. He snapped around. “It is as I feared. Let’s get rid of this tdahle and then we’ll decide what to do.”
“What’s a tdahle?” Soonie whispered to Molly as Thomas and Gray Fox picked up the dead body. Lone Warrior followed them down the ridge.
“A rat,” replied Molly. “How does your ankle feel?”
“Still throbbing.” Soonie stretched out her leg and tried not to think about the pain. She was almost grateful for her injury so she wouldn’t have to watch as the trapper disappeared beneath the soft earth.
After a time, Lone Warrior came back alone. “I sent Thomas and Gray Fox to the settlement to fetch my Cactus Pear. She’s the most sure-footed of our horses. They will not be able to make the trip back until the morning. Even the best horse in the world couldn’t get through that ravine at night. I will stay here and keep you safe.”
“I—I can try to walk.” Soonie tried to speak with confidence.
“No, you won’t.” Molly spread the girls’ shawls over a patch of ferns. “And though we are strong, we can’t carry you all that way on a stretcher. Staying the night is a good plan.” She placed the packs on one end of the makeshift bed. “These will work for pillows. We’ll be snug as rabbits.”
Lone Warrior began to gather small sticks. He piled them beneath the rocky overhang.
Soonie found it difficult to pull her eyes away. Thick veins stood out in his hands when he grasped each twig, but every placement was gentle, and deliberate, as though he was creating a work of art.
He glanced up. “How is your foot?”
“I’ll be all right.”
He made a small noise in his throat and went back to work. “I’m building the fire here, so the smoke will filter through these rocks. Less chance of being seen.”
“Why build a fire at all? We have already eaten.”
Lone Warrior chuckled. “Yes, but the wolves have not.” He gave her a tiny smile.
A kind look for me? A tingling Soonie had never felt before surged through her whole self.
Dusk settled in a cloudy haze, covering all but a few hopeful stars. No moon rose to bid good evening to the campers on the hill.
Soonie sank back with a sigh, resting the injured foot on one of the satchels. “I haven’t felt this useless since I was seven and caught the measles. Grandma kept finding me out of bed, trying to drag myself around the house to do chores. Weeks passed before I felt better.” She groaned. “I hope I recover faster this time. I have so many plans for school next week.”
Using a rock, Molly ground a handful of berries to a pulp and scooped them into a leaf. She gave the makeshift plate to Soonie. “This should at least dull the ache.”
Soonie took an experimental taste and made a face. The pain might be better.
Molly watched her closely until she swallowed the rest. The bitterness lingered inside her mouth.
Lone Warrior nodded to the sleeping area. “You both should try to get some rest.”
Molly didn’t protest. She curled up in her shawl and within minutes, fell asleep.
Every time Soonie closed her eyes, the face of the young trapper floated before them. One moment, his soul had been inside his body, wherever souls reside. The next instant, gone. No chance to change his mind, no opportunity to ask for redemption.
She sat up and scooted over to the fire. Bark popped in the flames and sent sparks floating to the heavens. Do our souls look like that when we die? Some bright and happy, eager to meet their Creator, and others dark and cold, knowing the gates of Hell await?
Lone Warrior turned from the ledge where he was keeping watch. “He made his choice,” he said.
Soonie gave a short, surprised laugh. “Was my distress that obvious?”
“Out here, we see much of death. Sometimes we have to kill. Every man chooses their own path. You and Molly fought like warriors today.”
Soonie rested her chin on folded hands. “Narrow is the road that leads to righteousness, and wide is the path that leads to destruction.”
“At the reservation’s school, I studied the Bible’s scriptures. I believe in God. But what good are the white man’s words when he acts differently?” Lone Warrior’s eyes flashed in the firelight. “The white man quotes the Bible verse, ‘Thou Shalt not kill.’ Yet if I had not killed today, you and Molly would be dead.”
Soonie shuddered. Does he always have to be so direct? “I believe men should be judged by their own merits. Not all white men are the same. Not all Comanche and Kiowa men have the same hearts. We should live under our own names, and let God be our judge.”
“I hear the voice of God,” said Lone Warrior. “In the sacred lodge, with Peyote.”
Peyote? Soonie had only heard the drug referenced a few times. Uncle Isak had told her Peyote was a cactus. Swallowing the plant would cause hallucinations and visions. Would God use such a substance to communicate with His people? She shook her head. God spoke to her often, sometimes out loud, and sometimes with a gentle nudge inside her heart. And all she’d had to do was be still and listen.
She looked Lone Warrior in the eye. “If you believe in God, why are you filled with so much anger?”
He stepped out of the circle of light and into the trees’ shadows. His lithe, long shape straightened as he craned his neck to see over the rocks. “When I lived on the reservation, all the children were friends. We played games and sang songs. We taught each other our sacred dances, both Comanche and Kiowa. Even though white men gave us far less than the promised food and supplies, and we often felt the pinch of hunger, laughter and friendship helped to warm our days and fill our bellies.
“At seventeen, I left children’s games behind. Quanah Parker, the chief at Fort Sill, put me in charge of feeding the cattle.
“I’d just returned from my work for the noon meal when I heard a clatter from the road. Three shiny carts, drawn by the most beautiful horses I’d ever seen, came around the bend.
“A man in a black coat came out of first one and told the adults he would take children aged ten to fifteen to the train station. They would have to attend a school far away, to learn to be useful citizens.
“The people in the carriages made the children change into white men’s clothes. They would not let them take anything from the reservation. Not dolls, not weapons. Nothing.” Lone Warrior closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll never forget as I watched the first group climb into the carts. Some looked excited. A few of the youngest cried. Mothers stood outside with helpless hands.
“Chief Quanah said it was for the best. He’d seen his people almost wiped out by starvation and sickness, and he felt that learning trades and receiving an education was a good thing for the children. But my father held Timothy close to his side.
“Isak spread the word of a military post, several hours to the south, led by a captain who owed him his life. We didn’t want our fate in the hands of yet another white man, but Isak pleaded with us.
“Isak’s sister, Roberta, clutched the hands of her two little sons. She was convinced the men would be back for all the children, even the babies.
“In the hours before the buggies were to come for more passengers, our families packed what they could.”
“After being on the reservation so long?” Soonie couldn’t imagine. “How did you all get away?”
“Quanah saw the tears of the women, and he waved us on. Thirty people left that day, with only the items our horses could carry. Much later, he sent two wagons, filled with some supplies. I don’t know what he told the soldiers who kept watch over the reservation. But Quanah was a rich man. He must have used bribes.”
“And the children who were taken? Did their parents ever hear from them?”
A tear gleamed in the corner of Lone Warrior’s eye, and trickled through his face paint, down to his chin. “From what we heard, no one ever saw them again. I assume they were taught to despise the Comanche heritage.” His face twisted, as though he fought to hold in further, bitter words.
Soonie twisted her hands under her shawl. “Uncle Isak brought my cousins to my grandparents four years ago. He said there had been many sicknesses.” She remembered the first day she had seen little Henry and Will, with their thin, pinched faces. Would they have survived at the set
tlement?
“Isak’s sister died of a fever that spread through camp right after we moved in. Many children were orphaned during that time.”
“So you escaped one tragedy, only to fall into another.” Soonie murmured.
“Yes.” Lone Warrior stared into the fading embers. “But we have found better ways to grow food. We are less hungry than we were on the reservation, when the government was to help us. And we are free. It was worth the price.”
Soonie stretched out trembling fingers and touched Lone Warrior’s hand. “I’m sorry for all the hardships you have been through. It must have been terrible.”
The young man’s eyebrows traveled up to his porcupine quills and his lips twitched. He said nothing, only stared at her small hand covering his dark one. For a long time, they stayed that way, watching the fire burn down to darkened coals.
12 Tipi Talk
Soonie limped up to Uncle Isak’s tipi, leaning heavily on the walking stick Hershel and Felix had presented to her that morning. Seven days had passed since the injury. Molly had decided she had just pulled a few muscles, and said it would heal before too long. The pain had dwindled, but she still couldn’t rest all her weight on the foot.
Uncle Isak sewed a tear that ran up the side of the tent. Leathered fingers tugged a large, bone needle through the material with practiced technique.
He turned to Soonie. “How did school go today?”
“Pretty well.” Soonie picked up a second needle and poked holes along the sides of another tear. “Mira can read short words now, and Little Boar has finally learned how to write his name. Even the older boys have been on their best behavior since I hurt my ankle. Suppose I’ve garnered their sympathy.”
Uncle Isak nodded, intent on his work. Sweat stained his shirt where his heavy braids hung against the fabric. No one in the settlement was fooled by the warm air that had blown through earlier in the week. Each member worked to weatherize the shelters with what materials they had available.
The Comanche Girl's Prayer, Texas Women of Spirit Book 2 Page 8
